Mundane Musings of a Meandering Mind

Cynic – I : Episode 2

Episode – 2 : The Raging River

Cynic’s decision to end the sabbatical from writing is showing its wonders. Long withheld ideas have now found an outlet, and the turbulence they bring to her mind amazes her. The flow of thoughts is so rapid that she is unable to pick and process each one. She smiles, as she realises how many treasures of thoughts she has buried over time. The writer has been dead for some time, but has now become a phoenix, who has resurrected from the ashes of loneliness. Cynic connects with her old friend, the writer within. She has had enough of spitting out textbook-friendly phrases on pages. She is eager to write words like she used to – words that shout, but are silent, words that whisper, yet touch a chord, words that belong to the reservoir of her own feelings, words with thoughts that hug her heart, words that make her alien to her friends, yet help her resonate with complete strangers.

With pen in hand and resolve in heart, she opens a fresh page in her book and ponders for a while. If you have access to look inside her thought process, you’ll see Cynic constructing a mind-map of her ideas – a network of inter-linked clouds of different sizes. Some link with others on an equal level, while most link with a single, large parent cloud. This large cloud comprises feelings that make her heart heavy, and for this same reason, the mind decides to paint this large cloud in a dark grey hue. Much like the dark, large, heavy clouds in the air above, this one too looks ready to rain down hard on the book below.

Thoughts filled with anger are what rain down first. It is a complete downpour, and it has come down without a warning. She doesn’t have to wait and think for the right words. Her mind is a storehouse brimming with bitter experiences, which help keep the process of spewing out angry words, a continuous one. She is continuously provided with memories of incidents that made her hate the people around her. The anger originates in different tributaries, and then confluences into a mighty raging river, which in turn nourishes her hatred for society. The source of one such tributary is her disgust for the way men behave around her. Their piercing eyes make their vulgar imaginations visible to her. Their not-so-subtle stares ensure that her love for summer shorts and miniskirts is never manifested in her clothing. Another tributary is her hatred for the way members of her own sex annoy her. Their nasty comments and smirks, when they smell the ash from her clothes, make her want to ignore them. Yet another tributary originates from the unasked horror that nature gifts her once every month. She especially hates the packaging that this gift comes in – the cramps that make her into a monster much worse than she really is. Many more such tributaries come together to bring enough anger that it makes the river capable of destruction.

True to its nature, the river brings destruction to the story Cynic has been penning for a while. Like an athlete’s anger destroys his game; angst has done to her story the same. As she reads it over, she grins. This is not even close to a story. This is angst, though not alone. Melancholy proves to be a worthy companion to it. She feels that a lighter, a more feel-good piece would perform better, if it is a creative writing competition she intends to win. Now, with all this release of emotions, she does feel a lot lighter and capable of writing a serene story, not as dark as the one she just wrote. This is in spite of the fact that she knows true stories have a much better impact. She wants to keep it for her diary. By no means will she allow the world to witness what is within her.